


You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To

by Cymbelines



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Edgeplay, M/M, Phone Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbelines/pseuds/Cymbelines
Summary: Percival Graves goes out of state because of an ongoing investigation, leaving Credence behind in New York City. When a few days turns into a week, the two become more than a little desperate for a reunion. Incidentally, Graves had never been particularly keen on cellphones, but Credence discovers a good enough reason to familiarize him with all the perks of technology.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xJuniperx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJuniperx/gifts).



> For clarity, I've thrown our boys in the present day. I've always read Credence as the type who, even after discovering his magical capabilities, would still be very salt-of-the-earth. Hence Graves and Credence becoming happily familiar with non-magical ways of bridging long distances.

It had been a long day of work and errands and Credence wished he wasn’t spending the waning hours alone in a house that was beginning to feel much too big and much too silent. The trouble was, without Percival Graves around, the days just felt _so long_. Credence understood that Graves’ position as head auror of MACUSA came with unique challenges: long shifts at work, abrupt calls to crime scenes in the midnight hour, grueling investigations that left Graves utterly exhausted hours later. But in all the time they had been together, Graves hadn’t ever been whisked out of state for a case until now.

Credence took a deep breath and watched tendrils of steam rise from his bathwater. He tried to remind himself that Graves would be back home in three days, but that didn’t lessen how badly he missed him _now_ . It was strange- Credence had gone on through so much of his life without affection or pleasure that the life he enjoyed now would’ve been simply unimaginable to him a year ago. But that was before he knew of the magical world and his own capabilities, before he was found by Tina Goldstein, before the death of Mary Lou. Now, Credence was sharing a life of laughter and magic with the greatest man he’d ever met. _I’m sharing a home with him_ , Credence thought to himself with some awe and then, with some bashfulness, _we’re sharing a bed._

He closed his eyes, conjuring up memories of when Graves had last joined him in the shower. He had tended to Credence so generously then, lathering his body with water and soap, willfully starving off any urge to touch Credence where he was already stiff, already aching for contact. He had nipped at the junction of his neck, instead; he had massaged his fingers into a soothing press into Credence’s scalp, kissing his cheek and speaking softly all the while. Credence could almost hear the low cadence of his voice, soft and warm in the way it always was when they were in the throes of something lazy and sweet.

The young man shifted, feeling restless. The bath-water sloshed, spilling over onto the cool tiles below. Dipping further into the hot water, Credence tried to will his body to relax. He took a deep breath of hot air, his hands finding the outside of his knees. Slowly, he smoothed his fingertips up in an easy line across his thighs. He halted there, feeling his face flush with the memory of what had happened after that shower, the night before Graves had left: the way they had worked one another into a frenzy, touching and kissing like they wouldn’t see each other again in years. Graves’ mouth on his neck, on his chest, sucking and soothing sweet marks into pink skin. The sound of the bed as it creaked and groaned with motion. The taste of him in Credence’s mouth, the run of his hands through Credence’s hair, pulling just right through long, messy tresses of raven-black. Unconsciously, Credence’s hands dipped in between his legs, where the visions flooding his mind were already inciting a reaction. He had anticipated loneliness and boredom, but he hadn’t been quite prepared for _this_ particular challenge of separation. He took himself in hand, wanting more, wanting Graves and he tried to imagine something more-

The familiar tone of his cell-phone interrupted from across the room.

Credence sat upright, his hands fixed over the rim of the tub, as if he had been caught in the act. He looked to where he left his phone on the bathroom vanity- even from a distance, he could see the phone shining with a notification. Then, after a minute had passed, the phone let out another sound, another flash of light. Yet another. He immediately knew who it was. Credence hurried through the remainder of his bath. Graves would have to be up early and Credence wanted to hear his voice so badly; the more time he wasted in the bath, the less time they had to speak. When he was done, he wrapped a towel about himself and nearly slipped as he rushed to where his phone lie. Three messages.

_Credence -_

_Didn’t get the chance to write earlier- long day._

_Are you awake?_

Credence smiled, running his thumb wistfully over the screen. _I’m here_ , he typed back. _I didn’t want to go to sleep without speaking to you. I miss you._

A few seconds stretched after his reply was sent with no suggestion that it had been read. Had he replied too late? Credence worried at his lip as he walked into the bedroom, impatiently checking the phone for a response he knew hadn't come yet. Eventually, he reasoned he should at least dress- he pulled on a pair of underwear. He dried his hair. He had just pulled one of Graves’ shirts out of their dresser, too tired to be bothered for a pair of pants. His phone sounded.

The message read, _I miss you, too._

Credence grinned to himself. Perhaps he should’ve felt embarrassed that such a simple admission could inspire so much happiness, but he couldn’t help it- he was already rushing to reply when a small bubble indicated Graves’ was still typing. Credence waited with held breath. Then: _I can’t stop thinking about you._   _It’s lonely here without you._

After he pulled the shirt down over his head, Credence’s phone sounded. An attachment had loaded. A photograph of a dimly light room, the image grainy and off-focus because Graves hardly used his phone, much less knew how to set the mode for a snapshot of a dark room. The image was simple: a view of Graves’ legs outstretched across a mess of tangled bedsheets, his thighs completely bare and so low in the frame that Credence recognized he couldn’t have been wearing anything.

 _Oh_ . Credence was immediately transported to the heavy ache he felt in the bath, the ardent desire to feel Graves’ hands on his form. So, he wasn’t alone in that feeling then. Graves missed- no, _wanted_ him, and nights alone were weighing on him, too. His face flushed. Credence knew Graves would've been waiting for a response, but he suddenly felt himself at a loss, unable to bridge a gap between what he wanted and the means to achieve it. He felt juvenile, inexperienced- he had a vague notion of the trite, satiric way lovers went about on the telephone: a man asking a woman what she was wearing, a woman offering a cool, drawled description of something sultry and skimp. He knew he couldn’t manage _that_. He had hardly typed four words before deleting them. He tried and failed again, erasing another response with a frown.

 _I’ve been thinking about you, too_ , he finally wrote, feeling slightly mortified he couldn't think of anything better.

After a beat, Graves was typing. _Is that right, baby?_

 _Yeah._ Then, before he could think better of it, he added: _I was in the tub...wishing you were with me._

The three ellipses that suggested Graves’ pending reply seemed to linger forever. _Did you touch yourself, imagining me there with you?_

Credence took a sharp intake of breath. _No_ . _I wanted to. I almost did but...I haven’t done that since you left._

 _Fuck._ Then, in a second message: _where are you now?_

 _In our bed. Wearing something of yours,_ Credence replied. The message was read instantly, but Graves wasn’t responding. Had he messed up? Why wasn't he responding as immediately as before? _I could do that now if you wanted,_ Credence anxiously amended. _In our bed I mean._

Graves had begun to type, before the indication that he was writing disappeared. It reappeared once more before vanishing a moment later. Credence swept his free hand over his cheeks, feeling them unbearably warm. _Wearing something of yours?_ What had possessed him to write that? _In our bed I mean-_ well, where else could he have possibly meant? No wonder Graves hadn't replied. Credence wasn’t confident, he wasn’t coy- he was making a fool of himself.

Credence threw himself over the bed with an undignified sound and his phone hopped out of his hand with the force of it. He groaned, burying his face in the nearest pillow before his phone began to vibrate and sound. He shot up immediately, taking the device in hand, reading what it relayed: _Incoming Call._ _Percival._

He answered on the first ring. “I’m sorry,” Credence blurted out. “I’m not good at this, I-”

On the other end of the line, Graves laughed. “Not good at it? Credence, you’re _perfect_. I just can’t write as fast as I’d like, certainly not with you talking to me like that. It was driving me insane.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he spoke again: “I just needed to hear your voice. I couldn't stop thinking about you today- couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I want to do to you when I come home.”  

Relief instantly blossomed in his chest, but Credence felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him, too.

“Credence? You still with me?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, nodding minutely. His voice sounded breathless and small, even to his own ears, and he sat in disbelief at his own excitement. Graves had barely even spoken, but Credence had already been restless since his bath. He spread his legs, shifting where he lay. “I miss you so much. I’m on your side of the bed and I can’t stop thinking about-” Credence paused, trying to measure his words, “about . . . what we do, about what I wish we were doing.”

Graves hummed, sounding pleased.“And what do you wish we were doing right now, Credence?”  
  
“You _know_ ,” Credence said, laughing nervously. “You’re really going to make me say it?”  
  
“Sweetheart, hearing you say it’s half the fun,” Graves said, practically purring. “Just say what you’re comfortable saying. Tell me what you wish we were doing right now, if I were lying right there next to you.”

He thought for a moment. “I wish you were kissing me,” he said then, thinking it easiest to start there.

“I want that, too,” Graves spoke, and his voice was earnest and low, smooth as velvet. “Where would you want me kissing you, baby? On your mouth, your neck?” 

Credence felt as if his mouth were running dry. While his left hand held the cellphone, his other slipped under his shirt and onto flat, warm plane of his stomach. “On...on my thighs, like you always do,” he spoke at last, “The inside of my thighs. I like it when you do that.”

He could hear Graves breathing, could hear the rustle of his movements where he lay, and Credence tried to imagine what he was doing, what he looked like in that foreign, tousled bed. “That’s good,” he sighed, “I just want to make you feel good, Credence. When I'm home, I want to do what you like, sweetheart, so you’ve got to tell me. You’ve got to tell me what you want.”

Credence nodded, feeling his face warm. “I want-” he began, before his hand etched ever lower, his fingers skimming over the waistband of his briefs before he cupped himself through the fabric, gasping at the contact. “ _Oh_ , I- I want you in my mouth.”

Graves made a beautiful sound at that, so Credence continued. “I miss you much” he said. “I miss the way you taste and- and the way you talk to me when we’re doing that. I miss the way you feel in my mouth- the way it feels afterwards, like I'm satisfied and still starving all at once.”

“Fuck,” the voice in Credence’s ear rasped. “God, _listen to you._ ” 

Credence ran his tongue over his lips, feeling his mouth run dry. “You put your fingers through my hair sometimes when I do it, you know. And I don’t think you know how much I like that. I’ve never told you.”

“I know,” Graves replied, sounding breathless before his voice pitched into a groan. “I know, sweetheart, I know you like it if I touch you when you’ve got your mouth on me- you’re so good at it. Oh fuck, Credence, _your mouth_ \- you always know how to make me feel good.” 

“Percival, you-” Credence began, not thinking about what he was saying now but just letting the words spill out as they may, “you’re never rough with me but you guide me and- and I can feel you holding back, sometimes. But I like it- I like it when you cup the back of my head, when you show me how fast, how you want me to move.”

Credence felt as though he were in a haze, palming dully against his erection, but then he made out a _sound_ from the other end, undercurrent to Graves’ harsher breaths _-_ motion, wetness, touch. He could hear the slick, wet work of Graves’ hand sliding over his own cock. Credence shut his eyes, holding his breath, trying to tunnel all his focus to the auditory alone.

The older man let out a shaking breath. “You like it when I handle you, baby? You like it when I tell you what to do?”

Credence couldn't help the weak sound that slipped out of his lips then. “Yes, please- _please_.”

He felt weak with all he wanted, almost drunk, almost sick. He hadn’t expected this when they had found each other- Credence hadn’t expected to find so much pleasure in giving, to find so much divinity in the sound and the form and the love of another man but it was there- god, it was there, sighing and moaning on the other end of a midnight phone call. 

“Credence,” Graves murmured again. “You’re perfect. You're so fucking perfect, baby. I want you to listen to what I tell you, is that alright with you?”

“Yes, ” he said. “Please, whatever you say, I’ll listen.”  

Graves laughed, but it was breathless and faint in the way it always was when he looked to Credence as if he were someone worthy of awe. “Tell me what you’re doing to yourself right now.”

Credence took a sharp breath. He felt embarrassed now, unsure of how to answer. “I’m- well, I took one of your shirts, the ones you use around the house, and I have underwear on, too, and I’m- I’m touching myself through it right now. It’s just my palm through the clothes, it’s not- I’m not-”

“Is that enough for you?” Graves gently interrupted, before Credence could falter any further.

“No,” he admitted, kneading his palm against his member now and feeling that need for more run electric through every nerve in his body. “I want more, please.”

“I want you to take the underwear off,” Graves said and Credence realized then he couldn’t hear the sounds from earlier. He clamped his eyes shut, trying to imagine how Graves must’ve looked: knees bent, maybe, and spread, the length of his cock red and leaking in his still, tightened first. “Leave my shirt on. I want to picture you wearing something of mine when you do this- want to think of you, all flushed and ready for me in my clothes. Are you gonna do that for me, Credence?”

“Yes.” Credence became painfully aware of his need now, and he held his cellphone between his cheek and his shoulder as both hands worked to yank the briefs off his canted hips. It was strange how much that alone affected him, so that Credence became aware of just how desperate he felt, just what sort of a picture he was making.“Yes, I- I did it now.” 

“That’s good. I want you take yourself in your hand. You know how I do this, don’t you? You know what I do when I’ve got your cock in my hand, right, baby?”

“Yeah,” Credence said and then, when Graves only offered him a hum in response, he knew he was being prompted to speak more. “You always touch the head, first. You wet your hand sometimes- you get me all slick. Is that what you want me to do?”

Graves let out a harsh breath now. When he spoke, he sounded breathless again. “Yeah, that’s what I want- I want you to get yourself at slick as you can, make it easy for you.”

He was too far gone now to try to find where they last left the lubricant. Credence gave his right hand a long, broad swipe of his tongue. The first touch of his hand on the bare skin of his cock made him gasp aloud. He breathed in deep, running his thumb across the curved and jutting length of his member, thumbing over the bead of precome that leaked at the tip. He moaned, feeling Graves’ name spill from his lips of its own accord.

“All those sounds you’re making- I’d rush to our bed in an instant, if I could. I’d be right beside you- touching you, kissing that pretty mouth of yours, drinking in all that noise.”

“Percival,” Credence sighed, without really knowing why.

He hummed, but it pitched into a delectable sound, like something had happened to make him feel good. “I’m here, Credence,” he spoke, “I’m here. I want you to do something for me now, okay? I want you to stroke yourself real nice and slow for me.”

Credence did as he was told, drawing the fist around his length to a languid rise and fall. He curled his toes, breathing harsh. “Shh, now. Go slow,” Graves murmured. The phone went static with noise, with the suggestion of movement. “Take your time, baby, breathe deep for me. I’m here.”

He shuddered, drawing out another slow, tense movement and when Graves repeated his reminder  a second time, Credence groaned. He listened to further instructions, spoken with a warm and alluring voice: “Just hold your hand there now- just be still for a moment, can you do that? Just wait it off a moment, just a moment. You’re doing such a beautiful job for me.”

Credence was nearly shaking now, tears threatening in a sting over his eyes and he canted his hips up, thrusting weakly into his grip. He wanted to listen. He really did want to obey, but he felt himself at the very brink of control. Still, Graves’ voice was familiar and constant. He could trust him. He could make him proud. He let out a weak, desperate sound and drew to a still.  
  
Graves spoke his name then, anchoring Credence back into attention. “I’m doing the same thing you are, Credence. I’m going just as slow as you are, working myself in time with you- close your eyes, sweetheart, imagine it’s me- it’s me there, touching you, stroking you. It’s me, feeling you hard in my hand. You want to come, don’t you? You want to go faster, feel relief?”

“Please,” Credence replied. “Please, Percival, yes. Please go faster. Please make me come.”

There was a sharp inhale on the line, and then Graves let out a breathy moan. “Go ahead, baby. Go ahead, you’ve been so good,” he said with a groan and Credence could _hear_ him. He could hear him panting, could hear the phone crunch a little as Graves moved, and Credence _knew_ \- he knew Graves was working himself more quickly, allowing himself the same pace he had granted his partner.

Credence fucked into the tight, slick grip of his hand, his trembling fingers spreading to touch as best he could with broad, sure strokes. His mouth hung open and weak, desperate noises were pouring out him, filling the room. Credence couldn’t think to be quiet, couldn’t be bothered with playing at decency when Graves sounded the way he did. He was saying Credence’s name like a mantra, moaning and gasping around murmured sweet-nothings, and his voice was so close he could almost imagine Graves was speaking right into his ear.

“Fuck, _Credence_ ,” Graves panted, laborious and harsh. “Love hearing you like this- love you, my precious, beautiful boy- making all that sweet noise for me, missing me, getting me so fucking weak for you.”

“I’m so close,” Credence said, practically sobbing. “Percival, please, I love you so much and, _ah-_ can I, please- I want this, I want to _-_ ”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, baby, let it go. I want you to come, baby- want to hear you come.”

The words drove a pitched, shaking cry from Credence and he came just like that, spilling hot and wet over his fist, over the crumpled material of Graves’ shirt where it had risen up onto Credence’s chest. Credence clenched the cellphone with his freehand, tight as a vice, gasping for breath as Graves made a rich, familiar noise: guttural and low and delicious. Credence felt as though he’d been swept by a current- he wished he could bottle that sound and plate this single moment in gold. He felt overwhelmed by how much he loved him and the way they always managed to do this to each other, drawing out a hunger and a boldness that no other person was privy to see. He loved that this would be one of many other first experiences that only Graves could claim a share to.

They lingered together like that for a while, speaking nothing but working to regain their breaths. Credence smiled to himself with closed eyes and made an amused sound, too breathless to truly laugh but nearly there. He was overwhelmed with how good he felt now and, for a moment, it was as if distance wasn’t an issue. He felt close to Graves in a way he couldn’t express, as if he could reach out into the darkness of his clamped-shut eyes and touch his cheek. This time, when he exhaled, he laughed.

“I’ve never done that before,” Credence said, lying down more comfortably in bed. “That was…”

“It was _something_ , wasn’t it?” Graves said, before he laughed, too. “I really couldn’t get you out of my head today, you know. Thought I’d go insane with how worked up I was getting, but this- god, that sound you made was worth the grief.”

The younger man hummed and a comfortable, fond silence lingered between them for just a second. “Three more days until you're home,” Credence said. He’d have to change now. He’d have to wipe down, but he felt boneless and spent. “Three more days and then I won’t be sleeping alone anymore.”

Graves hummed. “I want to tell you it’ll go by quickly but,” he paused, chuckling to himself, “you’ve got me acting half my age. I feel like it can’t go by quick enough, like I can’t go on separated from you very long or else I’m up against a wall.” Silence fell for a moment as Graves paused to consider his words and Credence waited, unwilling to interrupt. “It’s when I’m away from you that I realize how used to you I am. How long have I known you, two years? But you’re everything to me now, Credence.”

“I think,” Credence began, trying to search for the words through his drowsiness, “I think I understand. I think it’s like- like it’s all happened in such little time, but not to me, not really. Because to me it feels like I was looking for this before I was even aware of it, like I’ve waited my entire life to find you.”

“And then you found me,” Graves said. “And I found you.”

“That sounds too perfect to be true, doesn’t it?” Credence said and he meant it, but not unkindly. “You’re so- you’re just so important to everyone. People react when you walk into a room. They notice when you’re not around. You’re always so busy, but I see it and I- I think I’m the furthest thing away from that, like the world forgot I was brought into it, too.”

“Not to me,” said Graves. His voice sounded so fond and so true that it reminded Credence of childhood days in his mother’s church- Graves was speaking with the zealous confidence of someone who believed in what he was professing with all his heart. “Credence, you’re never that for me.”

Credence smiled, closing his eyes. “That sounds too perfect to be true.”

“But it _is_ true, ”Graves replied softly.

“Yeah,” Credence said after a while. Distantly, he told himself he'd open his eyes again after just another moment- a moment that would stretch without his knowing it, until he'd awake from the best sleep he'd had in nearly a week's time. Until then, he spoke quietly, his voice rounded with sleep. “It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reader, I hope you enjoyed the first of our three-part segment. We're going to follow our boys through their long and desperate weekend, but please remember the comments really do spur me on to keep writing. I know where I want to go, but I've got such a fragile sense of how I am as a writer. Really, any feedback is such a boost of confidence and such a motive to keep pushing along.
> 
> This fic wouldn't have been possible without my darling friend, Jackie. Thank you for always being such a wonderful friend and such a menace of a fic conspirator ❤️️ 
> 
>  
> 
> [come say hi to me on tumblr!](http://marsza.tumblr.com/)


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